The nerve plant by the window is wilting again. How
embarrassing. The nerve plant by the window is
our only plant. Our only plant is wilting again.

While my country bombs your country, the words
IT IS HAPPENING AGAIN, in the voice of the Twin Peaks Giant,
ear-worm into me. The nerve plant is wilting again.

The nerve plant is named for disposition—the nerve plant
does not hide its discontent. What disposition would serve
you best while the bombs fall? I hide my nerves again.

Remember when we watched Twin Peaks, you and I?
Those were better times, except for all the other bombs
in other countries. Our nerve plant was not wilting then.

Embarrassingly, now, the nerve plant is wilting again—
our only plant. How little we are asked to take care of,
really, in this life—how massive a burden that feels.

While my country bombs your country, I feel
as potted as this plant—nervous and root-bound—cut
off from my nervousness. Feels I am wilting again.

Straining terracotta, I think of ways to be
of service to you. Nervously, I boil water in the kettle
to cook basmati rice the Persian way you taught me to.

You spend consecutive hours on the phone, speaking
nervous Farsi with your sisters. I meant to have
learned a little more Farsi by now. I am so, so sorry.

Remember when we translated Hafez, Azizam? you
translating Farsi into English, me translating English into what
I hoped was Poetry? Our nerve plant was not wilting then.

The Farsi I know, I learned from Hafez, from Hayadeh,
from you. I want to be your saaqi—all this planet’s
saaqi—but even this plant I leave thirsty.

Edge of the bed. Wet from the shower.
The curve of your lips is trembling. I hope I am
of service to you, as I hold you, as you cry.

You, while the bombs fall, refresh the IAEA website, nervous
about locations of sixty-percent-enriched uranium. I notice that
our one-and-only nerve plant is wilting. Nervous again.

Plant. Planet. How small a thing, really,
we are asked to take care of in this life.
How utterly embarrassing.

To the sink with the nerve plant, Justin, go. Be
of service again.